


The First Cut Is The Deepest

by AmberDread



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hybrid - Freeform, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Magic, Medieval, Reylo - Freeform, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Tags Are Hard, Vampires, bond, ish, no beta we die like men, vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberDread/pseuds/AmberDread
Summary: The thief that picks Kylo Ren's pocket, gets more than they bargained for.( I am so bad a summaries.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've given this the Rape/Non con tag, but personally I'd class it as dubious consent. It's a little similar to A/B/O terms of dubcon, but if you aren't sure, don't read it.

**  
  
**

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

The sun is heavy and hot, sailing at its highest as the midday bell tolls dolorously from the tower across the square from where Kylo Ren currently stands.

The heat doesn’t bother him overly much, and his hood and veil hides his face, protecting it from the burn, just his eyes left to see, narrowing in the glare.

For the moment, he stands in a small space, the crowd not yet excited enough to forget that a Knight of Ren stands in their midst. 

That may likely change when the punishments begin. Perhaps if there was any way to tell _which_ Knight he is, that he is none other than Master of the Knights of Ren, they would give him space. But apart from formal occasions, he purposely leaves off any insignia that the commoners may recognise. It makes catching criminals and sniffing out dissent so much easier.

Today, however, he is not on duty, he has just paused as many others have, to watch the violence unfold, to stir his appetite for a meal or a woman, or both. 

Time will tell.

His people, his species, thrive on bloodlust. 

Powered by it. 

Ruled by it.

As the first ragged prisoners are dragged onto the platform, the space around him decreases, even if people shift nervously at first, they soon forget he is there as the first blood is spilt and the first wailing cries are heard.

Music to his ears, to everyone’s, other than the wretch being punished.

The crowd presses closer, the tension in the air ratcheting up.

If he had been any other, the feather light touch on his belt pouch would have been missed, even him, with his extra senses only notices as it is being pulled carefully away.

Shock, comes first. That someone would be lunatic enough to attempt to rob a Knight of Ren?

Then, coiling deep inside and breaking out of his mouth as a loud, vehement hiss, fury ripples across his skin.

The perpetrator, realising they are found out, lets go and turns to run, Kylo’s grasping gloved hands just missing catching hold of them.

It is a boy, dressed in drab tan and brown desert clothes, a scarf and veil covering his head, thin body wriggling through gaps in the crowd as he makes his escape.

“ _VAGIS!_ ” Kylo’s roar clears a way immediately as people turn from the platform decorated in centuries of blood to move swiftly aside for him.

The boy is fast, but Kylo’s legs are longer, his powerful body rocketing him after the fleeing thief.

For a moment the boy turns, slowing in shock as if surprised that Kylo has bothered to pursue him, then his feet move even faster and Kylo can feel his lips pull slightly in a satisfied smile as his blood heats with the drive to take down his prey.

Bringing his predator instincts to the fore.

The thrill of the chase. 

Such an apt phrase. 

The only thing more thrilling is what comes after. 

The blood.

As he closes in on the boy, darting down side streets and alleyways, it becomes clear that this thief doesn’t know where he is going, or perhaps is too panicked to think clearly.

Either way, his fleet feet lead him up a slightly wider, yet quiet street and Kylo flashes a feral grin; he knows this road.

It is a dead end.

He is close now, close enough to hear the panicked breathing of his prey, the horrified gasp as he sees there is no way further for him to flee.

Kylo’s hand closes on his shoulder, and the boy whips his body around. 

Too late, Kylo sees the flash of a knife, feels the fire as the blade slices through his veil and skin, up his right cheek, just missing his eye.

Without hesitation he grasps the wrist holding the knife in a punishing grip, but inside his head, his thoughts spiral in horror. 

Savage hatred and almost overwhelming disbelief burns through him.

He has just been marriage marked by a peasant boy.

Seemingly an idiot because no one in their right mind would slash the face of a stranger like this. 

A bitter, acrid taste of mortification fills his mouth.

He had been going to take the boys’ hand for the attempted theft. Now his honour requires nothing less than his head, and Kylo will delight in doing so. Hopefully the baptism of the boys blood will erase the shame a little.

Throwing the boy away from him, slamming his back against the stone of the nearest house, he hears the gasp and whoosh of air leaving lungs. The knife now forgotten on the cobbles of the street.

Pressing one large hand around the delicate neck, he uses his other hand to rip the veil and headscarf away, discarding them as the boy struggles even more now his face is bared to the harsh light.

His face…

A tiny flicker of hope, the merest thing, but there, enters Kylos heart.

_Could it be?_

The hand that had removed the coverings moves purposely down to feel the chest of his captive.

_It is._

But to be sure, he ignores the terrified writhing and presses his free hand between… _her_ legs.

The thief is not a boy. 

His honour can be salvaged to some extent.

It has to be done now, though.

He releases her neck and grabs her left hand, slashing her palm with his own knife. She cries out, mostly in shock, he thinks, as he yanks her hand up to press her open wound against his.

Blood to blood.

As their fluids mix, the bond settles into their blood and he can feel the magic rippling through him, heal his wound. When he draws her hand away from his face, he sees a long pink scar where he had cut her.

So it is done then.

His bondmate is staring at him with wide eyed horror, frozen and silent.

They gaze at each other for a moment, her eyes are bright green with flecks of orange and gold. They are strange, he has never seen eyes like these before.

“What is your name?”

Her expression doesn’t change.

He tries again, and gets the same reaction.

So he tugs her by the hand, expecting her to go with him.

Only to find that she disagrees.

She disagrees loudly and in a tongue unfamiliar to his ears as she yanks and pulls at his grip on her. When his hold merely tightens she tries to fight him, kicking at his knees and attempting to punch him with her free hand. Spitting what are obviously curses.

He is an immovable object, though, an unstoppable force.

Thrusting her front up against the wall, he presses and holds her in position with his body as he cuffs her hands and ties her elbows together.

She hisses and spits and writhes like the feral thing she seems to be.

It is useless.

Once she is tied securely, he rips what is left of his ruined veil from his face, pulls his hood further down and hoists her easily over his shoulder, leaving her bloody knife and the scraps of their coverings behind them in the street.

It is easy to hold down her legs and hips, and he ignores the curious stares of passersby as he stalks with purposeful steps back to the Keep Of Ren.

He can feel her trying to bite his back or thrusting her chin as hard as she can against his spine, and has to keep his lips still - being without his veil is bad enough, no one can see him smile.

Inside he is still reeling somewhat from the unexpected turn of events and there is a tickle of something that his mind is trying to latch onto, but it keeps slipping away from him whenever he attempts to grasp it.

No matter, he is sure it will come to him.

Perhaps he should have gagged her before starting home, but he finds he quite likes how fierce she sounds; despite her fear, she is obviously delivering a tongue lashing in her alien language.

She has grown quiet by the time he reaches the keep, silent. The guards at the gate raise their eyebrows but don’t say anything - there aren’t any women in the keep, those with mates live outside it.

As the shadow of the black tower covers them, he feels her body tense, a small sound as she sucks in her breath before she resumes her struggling.

Clearly, even though it appears as if she is new to the city, she knows enough to fear when she sees where he has brought her.

But her struggles are in vain. 

In the cool dark of the courtyard, he pulls his hood back, before he makes his way to the common area in the east wing.

The easy talk stops when he enters carrying his prize, his face still bloody.

The Knights he calls friends gather around him while those he does not look on from afar as he places his burden back on her feet, keeping her back pressed against his chest as he imparts what has happened.

After a moment of writhing, she actually presses back against him, her head jerking, presumably as her eyes dart around the large room, no doubt looking for escape.

As his friends press closer, he can feel her start to tremble and absently starts to stroke her rich brown hair, hoping to somehow soothe her fears a little.

“And she does not speak basic, nor do I think she even understands it,” he finishes.

Ingalan, his second, calls over Mitaka, a new recruit whom Kylo doesn’t think will last here much longer.

The man comes, obviously nervous, but relaxes a little when he is asked to try and work out what language it is she speaks.

Although she is silent now, he can feel her head cock slightly as Mitaka begins to ask her questions in the languages he knows.

Presently, she stills, then hesitantly falters out a few sentences. Mitaka frowns, then nods and replies, she shakes her head, an obvious no.

“She understands a little of Dinkěh, from further south and east, but I do not know what her own tongue is,” he reddens and licks his lips nervously, eyes darting away from Kylo’s.

“And what has she said?” he asks, trying not to let his irritation make the man cringe any more.

Mitaka rubs the back of his neck, eyes never still, looking everywhere but at Kylo and the other Knights. 

“Um… she was hard to understand, it seems that most of what she knows are curse words.”

Kylo stops his lips from pulling up once more, “Javiell? See if you can find Threepio.”

As they wait, Kylo pushes the girl to sit down in a chair, but remains standing himself. The others have a closer look at her, chuckling when they get too close and she snarls.

“Such a savage little thing,” Leonmar remarks as he studies her.

Zainmar moves around her as she is distracted by his brother and gets close enough to inhale her scent.

Kylo frowns, if it were anyone else, he would have punched their teeth into their nasal cavity, but Zainmar, whilst being in his inner circle, also has a heightened sense of smell. The tickle in his mind grows closer to his grasp as he watches Zainmar tilt his head curiously.

“There is something different… a sweetness to her that I cannot place,” he moves away as the girls head jerks towards him. He grins, “You will have an interesting time later, I think.”

There are chuckles - that is very likely true.

Kylo can feel the bond, insistent, pulling at him, at them both, to complete the binding.

Javiell returns with Threepio, who is flustered and excited at the news that Kylo has found a bondmate.

Kylo irritably waves off his congratulations and the golden skinned antapuri’s gaze settles on the girl, a look of disapproval flickers across his face.

“She is small and dirty, my lord!” he says this as if it is an insult to Kylo’s honour.

Kylo could not care less.

“There will be time to rectify that later. What I need for you to do is find out what language it is that she speaks, so I can communicate with her.”

Flustered once more, Threepio ducks his head, “Yes, yes of course, my lord,” he then turns to the girl and Kylo forces her chin to look up as Threepio begins to talk.

It takes a while, and Kylo takes some water handed to him from a servant while he waits. The girl tracks the movement hungrily, but her attention is soon claimed by Threepio as he finally speaks in a language she understands.

Suddenly she unleashes a barrage of angry words and Threepio looks like he may faint. He shakes his head, attempting to cut her off but she just talks over him; apparently she has a lot to say.

“Well?” Kylo demands, and they both look at him.

Threepio swallows audibly, “She is from a little known region far to the East, named Jakku…” he swallows once more, eyes sliding for a moment to the mug of water in Kylo’s hand, before he licks his lips and continues, “She is being… very rude, and she, she…”

“She what?” Kylo asks impatiently as the others gather closer with interest.

Threepio’s face is appalled, “She insists you be arrested for cutting her hand and kidnapping her.”

There is a moment of stunned silence, then Zainmar throws back his head and laughs. The girl hisses out a string of invective in response and Threepio blanches.

“Could it be she doesn’t know what a bond is?” Ingalan suggests, as Zainmar’s laugh quietens into chuckles.

It is an interesting thought, and if true, will make the next part a lot more difficult. But Kylo has never run from a challenge.

“Explain it to her, Threepio.”

The girl stills as Threepio speaks to her, and Kylo can see her golden skin prickle with goosebumps, before she completely freezes, eyes wide and slightly unfocused in a face gone pale.

Then her head starts to shake, panicked words tumble from her bloodless lips. Finding no pity from Threepio she turns to look at Kylo in desperation, eyes full of moisture, though it hasn’t quite spilled over yet.

“What’s her name?” he asks Threepio and she pauses, the barest touch of hope on her features as she turns back to Threepio for a translation.

There is some back and forth, clearly she is arguing with him, then her shoulders sag a little and she utters a single syllable, “Rey.”

Warmth blooms inside his chest, as he repeats it to himself in his head. If it has a meaning in her tongue, she doesn’t share it, but in basic its meaning is related to the sun. It fits, he thinks, as he looks at her golden skin and bright eyes.

She speaks again, and Threepio lets out an aggrieved breath before translating, “She promises to leave the city, and the country straight away, if you let her go free. She promises not to come back… I do not think she understands the bond.”

Her desperate eyes find Kylo’s, beseeching, and she stumbles off her chair and down onto her knees, clearly begging to be let go.

The sight of her on the floor does something to his blood. He shakes his head at her, and her entreaties fall silent, her expression flickers into something else, something blank. 

Something he cannot read.

He is just reaching out to her, to help her rise, when she hurls herself to her feet, somehow her arms are free, he has no idea how she has done it, but that hardly matters now, for she is trying to escape him.

Tackling his reluctant mate, they both crash to the floor, a sharp cry coming from her as her head hits the stone flags.

And that’s when it finally hits him, that tickle that’s been dancing on the edges of his mind. It’s the scent of her blood, the heady, sweet scent of _human_ blood.

Suddenly she is the only one moving or making noise in the room as she struggles against him, forehead bleeding freely as she snarls, her little human teeth completely unthreatening. 

Perhaps it was the magic of their new bond that had distracted everyone, but they can all scent it now.

They all want it.

A true snarl rips its way out of Kylo’s chest as he gathers her small frame against his body, backing up till he is against a wall so no one can come at him from behind.

The brutal sounds he is making, causes his prey to go still and limp in his arms and he focuses on the others in the room, some of whom are drawing closer, hunger in their eyes.

He will kill them all if he has to.

Javiell and Ingalan come to his aid, not too close though. Zainmar is gripping onto the nearest table, knuckles white and eyes unfocused as he tries to hold his breath. Leonmar doesn’t look much better.

“We need to get you to your room,” Ingalan grits out urgently.

Kylo can only agree.

He gathers her, _Rey_ , to his chest, where she curls up as small as she can, shivering with fear. He backs away towards the door, Ingalan ahead and Javiell behind. They make it out just in time, Javiell shoving the door shut and holding onto the handle as he shouts for them to go.

Ingalan clears their path, snarling at anyone in their way, almost as agitated as Kylo.

Somehow they make it to his room and Kylo pushes Rey away from him and turns to shut the door in Ingalan’s face, dropping the heavy bar in front of it immediately.

For a moment he breathes deeply before raising his voice, “Thank you, my friend.”

There is a grunt from the otherside, “Of course,” Ingalan replies, before the sound of Javiell arrives, along with others.

There are snarls and snaps, the sound of a scuffle.

Kylo flicks his hand and activates the wards placed on his room, effectively cutting off scent and sound, giving he and his mate privacy but also hopefully giving respite to his fellow Knights senses too.

_A human._

She is huddled on the floor, rocking slightly, eyes pressed against her knees.

Humans are rare, are priceless. They are kept by the wealthy, he knows of perhaps fifty in the city and has only ever encountered six in person.

He didn’t even know they, or any other species, were compatible for a bond, but clearly they are. Or perhaps the ones from Jakku are… but that is something to ponder another time.

For now, they must complete the bonding, if they do not, it will leave them both vulnerable and he hopes it will also mean she will no longer drive his fellow Knights wild.

He finally allows himself to properly breathe her in, even from several paces away, his mouth prickles with saliva and his teeth ache with want.

And then of course there is the bond, its magic urging him to complete it, and his hot blood rushes south.

A groan escapes him and he starts to pull off his clothing as he walks towards her, catching her up before she can react and tossing her onto his bed. 

He is down to just his trousers by the time he reaches the bed. She has scuttled away till her back is against the wall.

To his amusement, she is clutching a small knife, one he keeps by his bed, and she brandishes it as if it were a sword.

Yes, she is fierce. 

The humans he has seen before were all docile, blank eyes creatures. He feels a flush of pride to have found one so out of the ordinary. 

Although, she found him, really.

What a fortunate twist of fate. 

She gasps as he removes his trousers, her eyes shutting, her cheeks changing colour in a curious way.

But as he puts his knee on the bed to crawl to her, her eyes flash open, determination on her face and she lunges with the knife.

His admiration increases as she tries to stab him, as her little blunt teeth sink into the arm that restrains her.

She does not give in, even as he disarms her and throws the knife behind him, where it skitters along the floor and out of reach.

All the writhing and wriggling is wasted energy though, and he just starts ripping off her thin clothing. But he stills once her tunic is all but gone and she turns from him.

His grip tightens unintentionally as he feels rage so strong his vision clouds red in his eyes. Her beautiful tanned skin is marred, scarred with whip marks.

He comes back to himself when she makes a pained noise and he realises he has been gripping her shoulder too tightly as he stares.

“You will tell me,” his voice is hoarse, “You will tell me who made these wounds and I will rip them to shreds, slowly, piece by piece, as you watch.”

He knows she does not understand him now, but he will make sure that she does soon. He wonders, for the first time, what sort of life she has had up until now. 

The thought makes his hands more gentle with her, as he turns her over and removes the rest of her clothing.

Her body is small, delicate, narrow hipped and small breasted, he isn’t sure if her size is down to malnutrition, because her ribs jut out, or if humans run smaller anyway.

They gaze at each other for a moment, before her hands come up to cover her chest and a slim leg tries to hide her sex from him.

It does no good. 

Along with the fresh blood on her head, and the dried blood on her palm, he can now scent the slick between her thighs.

It is the Bond Magic, insistent that the final rite is fulfilled, that they consummate it and cement the binding.

He shakes his head at her attempts to cover herself and lies beside her, pulling her to him so he can gently lick the blood on her forehead as one of his hands glides down her body and slips between her legs.

Finally, the fight in her dissolves, washed away by the pheromones in his scent and the magic that thrums in the air and under their skin.

Her back arches as he strokes her with his fingers and his tongue, her breath catching in her throat as her head tips back and her eyes flutter closed.

Surrendering.

He cannot wait any longer, the need is painful and he is not able to pause to learn her body the way he would like.

That would come later.

An alarmed whine comes from her as he sits up, as if she is afraid he is leaving her. But he merely settles his body between her legs, nudging her thighs further apart to accommodate him.

This is when he really realises their size disparity, when his aching cock rests against her sex. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he doesn’t have a choice, the imperative, the compulsion is now too strong. 

She mewls as he begins to push, her hips flexing slightly, as if to aid him. The slide is impossibly tight despite the slick and her muscles flutter around him as he bites his lip.

He has to withdraw before pushing in again, he does this several times, hissing in an equal measure of ecstasy and torment, before he cannot hold on to his control anymore and his desperate body takes over.

She cries out as he fully sheaths himself inside her, her body spasming as pleasure takes her. He begins to fuck her in earnest, her entire body jolts with each thrust, her small breasts bouncing slightly, her fingers gripping the sheets as she writhes. This time though, the movement is not her fighting to get away from him.

He can feel another climax taking shape, her body eager to draw him with her, and he doesn’t try to hold on, he wants this as much as she does,

Craves it.

As they finish together, he sinks his teeth into her neck, unable to stop himself, the mix of sensations make his vision dance with spots, his muscles tremble as he spills inside her. 

The surge of magic can probably be felt on the other side of the city, its blast is so strong. The bond completes, knitting their essences together, linking their souls and minds, irrevocably.

When he comes back to himself, he slides as gently from her body as he can. Despite this, there is blood coating his sex and hers, along with the other fluids. 

He licks his lips as he stares, wondering if she had been a virgin or it was from their size difference. With time, her body should adjust to his, gods willing that would be sooner rather than later. 

His bondmate appears to have passed out. Gathering her to him, he moves so he can cover them in his sheets, curling his body around hers, protectively. 

Possessively. 

Absently he runs a finger along her sticky thigh and brings it to his lips, the blood is the sweetest he has tasted, his whole body hums.

He was her first.

And will be her only.

**.~*~v***v~*~.**


	2. Chapter 2

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

Rey dreams.

Normally sleep brings her no solace, torments her with nightmares that leave her fighting desperately to wake up.

But when she wakes now, in an unfamiliar room, she realises with confusion that she feels rested, perhaps safe.

This feeling dissipates however when she realises that she is restrained by someone's arms, their large body curled around hers, their breath tickling her neck.

Her heart starts to beat quickly in her chest and she becomes aware that she is also nude. Memories are only revealed to her slowly, as her sluggish mind attempts to remember what has transpired.

The man in black, the monster, it is he who has her cocooned by his body and black sheets. Yet she is still a long way from understanding what it is that has happened to her. She feels different, but cannot put her finger on how exactly, other than that she has been mutilated, abducted and despoiled.

Tears come, burning her cheeks as they fall, is she a thrall once more? Had she escaped Jakku and come all this way, only to be enslaved again? Perhaps this is her fate then, the hundreds of miles inbetween have not changed her fortune, maybe it would always be so.

Such a harsh lot, a bitter destiny… 

_ She will not accept it. _

Scrubbing her face with her hands, she tries to wriggle free of her captors embrace. He murmurs in the ugly language they most commonly speak here and buries his nose at the base of her neck as his thick arms tighten around her. If he holds her any harder she will not be able to breathe.

Digging her elbow into his stomach, she wriggles again and feels him come awake with a grunt, so she elbows him once more for good measure.

A growl rumbles in his chest and he flings a leg over her hip and grabs her hands to cross them over her body, trapping her completely. She snarls in response.

He speaks to her in a gentling tone, as if she were a frightened animal, as if she were stupid. Perhaps it would be better to appear to submit to him, until she can plan an escape that won’t end abruptly.

That is, after all, how she escaped Unkar. 

So she gives a small whine and tries to indicate that she has bodily needs that need relieving. It proves impossible without being able to see his face or move her hands, so she stills and sighs in defeat for now.

He goes back to sleep soon after, even breaths raising the hairs on her skin as he unconsciously nuzzles at her neck.

To distract herself, she tries to take inventory of her body, as that is the only thing she currently has. The cut on her palm does not hurt, (she still does not understand how it could have been healed like that) and the right side of her forehead stings a little, throbs a bit and there is a sore bruise at the base of her throat. Then there is the pain between her legs but she tries not to think about that.

Somehow, she drifts back to sleep and awakens to feel something hard pressing against her buttocks. The monsters hands are no longer holding her so tightly and one of them is stroking her side in long, smooth sweeps, it feels nice and she hates it.

There is a satisfied hum as his other hand cups a breast and she cannot help a small noise of alarm spilling from her lips. 

Even if it feels good.

His hands still and she keeps her disgusting disappointment hidden as he sighs resignedly and moves them to her sides, turning her so she can face him.

There is a little blood at the corner of his lips. 

Her blood.

His dark, alien eyes watch her intently and she looks away, knowing they will trap her somehow.

“ _ Rey. _ ” 

His voice is dark and deep and her name on his lips makes her shiver a little. His hand lifts her chin, then taps her chest, “Rey,” he repeats, then taps his own chest, “Kylo.”

Rey nods, communicating she understands but not wanting to sully her tongue with his name. He has magic, that much is obvious, his name may carry power and if she says it, it may trap her further.

He frowns a little, clearly displeased that she hasn’t responded, so she tries to distract him by tapping her distended bladder, then pointing to the door. Her cheeks flush with humiliation as she does this, but her need is now urgent.

It takes a moment for him to catch on, then he nods and rolls off the bed to stand up, pulling her with him. She totters, legs oddly weak and achy and his hands steady her before draping a sheet around her shoulders and lifting her into his arms. 

It seems unnecessary, but she doesn’t resist as doing so would just delay them. They leave the bedroom like this, entering a corridor and walking to the end and she wonders why he did not pause to cover himself too.

The room they enter is large, with a stone pool in the floor, the water in it steams gently and she can smell the minerals from it in the air.

In the side room he takes her into, there are privies and her control is almost lost at the sight of them. He sets her down carefully and then gestures to one of the stalls, at least he isn’t coming in with her; even if there is no door, he does not look.

The relief is immense, but she cannot help hissing in pain at the burning, stabbing sensation that comes with it.

It is impossible not to wince as she walks back to him, the pain is localised but acute. He frowns once more, picking her up almost carefully, then goes back into the pool room, discarding her sheet at the edge before walking into the water via some steps she had not noticed.

The water is hot, at first it stings and she struggles a little in his arms, but then she becomes used to it and it soothes the pain she feels and she sighs a little with relief.

Resting in the circle of his arms as he sits down on a ledge, she concentrates on the feel of the water and not on his body, or his tongue as it strokes over her forehead and neck.

Strangely, the wounds seem to hurt less as his rough tongue works, when he seems satisfied he places her on the ledge herself, then moves to the centre of the pool and ducks his head under the water. As he breaks the surface, she suddenly sees him for the first time, notices the details that have, up until now, seemed unimportant.

He is huge of course, covered in well defined muscles and pale white skin. There are numerous scars covering him, though the only one that is recent is the one she gave him, impossibly, it has scarred over, pink, just like her hand. Inky black hair hangs just above his shoulders, framing features that are angular and slightly odd, with lips perhaps more full than a male should have, and scattered all over him are dark moles, cast across the canvas of his skin like an inverted night sky. 

She does not study his eyes.

He gestures to her, indicating that she too, should get her hair wet. She acquiesces, secretly pleased as she hasn’t had a chance to properly bathe in some time, and there is so much that she wishes to wash away. Letting her breath out she lets herself sink to the bottom, eyes tightly shut as she works her fingers through her hair, letting the heat of the water permeate down to her very bones. 

When she is suddenly yanked upwards though, her eyes fly open in surprise. She is met with an angry glare as he growls at her, but she doesn’t understand why.

Clearly her confusion gives him pause and he cocks his head as he studies her, the grip on her upper arms loosening a little… did he think she was trying to drown herself?

Shaking her head, she points to her hair, then combs her fingers through it, he gives her a stiff nod and lets go, going over to some pottery jars by the edge of the steps and dipping his hand in one, before working the liquid through his wet hair. Another jar, another handful, this time lathered over his skin. She looks away, her mouth is suddenly dry and she wants nothing more than to sink into the water once more.

The sweet scent of whatever he is using reaches her, it is something like honey and spice, it reminds her how long it has been since she last ate or drank.

Little eddies in the water alert her that he is coming back to her and she looks up in time to see his hands reach for her head before she jerks away and holds out her hands for him to transfer the liquid he carries to her.

This obviously displeases him, and he tries again but she jerks away once more.

She gets to wash her hair and body herself. 

It is a victory, if small.

When they return to the bedroom, there is a tray waiting inside it and a neat pile of clothing on the bed.

Rey rushes to the water first, it is so cold condensation beads on the outside of the jug. When she has gulped down as much as she can for now, she glances up to see he is watching her, the merest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. She drops her eyes before he can see her scowl, and starts to eat, not bothering to pay much attention to what it is as she shoves in her mouth, barely chewing before she stuffs something else in. 

Food that is there can be taken away, so she eats while she can.

When her stomach cannot hold anymore, she absently wipes her face and wraps her towel around her more closely, before looking to see what her captor is doing.

She finds him dressed, shrouded in black once more, though his veil and hood are loose about his shoulders. 

In his hands is the pile of clothing she had noticed before, dark red and white. When he gives them to her, she is annoyed to find they are dresses, in her experience it is much easier to go unnoticed in male clothing, and red is an eye catching colour. Still, it is better than the towel. 

Turning her back to him, she quickly drops the towel and yanks on the white underdress, it is sheer and she cannot see the point of such thin, delicate material. The red over dress is slightly better, silky smooth but opaque and the colour of dried blood. To her annoyance, she needs him to do up the back and when he is finished, the bodice is quite tight.

There are also little leather slippers that will fall from her feet as soon as she tries to run - if he thinks that will stop her though, so much the better. There have been times in her life where she has gone for months without shoes, her feet are tougher than he knows.

Once she is dressed he inspects her, dark eyes assessing, before he pushes her to sit on the bed and brings out a comb. She tries to snatch it from him, but this time he insists, curling his lip as he growls in warning.

It is strange, how gentle such huge hands can be, and why this beast feels it necessary to comb and braid her hair himself. It is a mystery why he even knows how to braid - his black hair is left loose, curling slightly at the edges where it almost brushes his shoulders. 

There is no mirror, so she doesn’t know what he has done, but in the dress and whatever style her hair is in, she feels stupid, even more vulnerable. 

“Rey,” he takes her hand, drawfing it in his and leads her to the door and out, going the opposite way to the bathing room, back to where the rest of the monsters were.

For a moment she feels panic at the thought of being near them again, but to escape, she needs to learn the way out, so… her hands itch for a knife or even a stick, some way to even the odds.

There is a long knife on his belt on the hip opposite to her and a large sword set with an ominous glowing red stone in its hilt on his back, but neither will be any use to her now.

She will have to bide her time.

She’s done it before, and she will do it again.

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

Kylo finds the way Rey avoids his eyes frustrating, for the most part she tries not to look at him at all, but there are moments when she studies him, when she thinks he isn’t aware. 

And she refused to say his name.

He decides to take her to Threepio's office, he still isn’t completely certain that the bond will negate the allure of her blood, so he wears his sword, just in case.

She looks beautiful. He doesn’t know where Threepio got the garments she wears, or how he could guess her size so closely, but she looks… ravishing. Part of him wonders if that is related to their bond, another part simply wants to take her back to his room and rip the clothes off her again.

Although the compulsion to complete the bond in gone, his desire for her hasn’t decreased. Clearly her’s has. 

Still, it is less than a day since they initiated the bond. 

Unfortunately, he has duties to attend to. He doesn’t like leaving her, but he has already shirked some of his obligations and that cannot continue. Still, for his peace of mind, he takes her to the common area first, to test if she is safe to be left.

It is emptier than it was yesterday, but there are a good handful of Knights within and their heads all turn to stare at the creature next to him.

She shrinks back, moving slightly behind him as her grip on his hand tightens. He likes that, it feels right. 

“Is it the same?” he asks as his friends draw nearer.

They shake their heads as they study her, though Zainmar grimaces a little and says, “Not as such, but she still smells really good.”

Ingalan smiles, “But not in a way to start a riot, I think.”

Kylo lets out a calming breath and nods as he relaxes a little, “I’ll leave her with Threepio and Korso, then we can leave.” 

They nod and follow him, Rey presses herself closer to his side as they walk and he is sure she will come to crave his touch eventually.

Threepio looks rather smug as Kylo presents Rey to him, clearly pleased that she now looks the part; the antapuri is too close to Kylo’s mother.

Kylo guides his mate into a chair as he speaks to Threepio, “Please explain to her that I must leave her for a while, and that she is to stay with you till I return.”

Threepio manages to look even more self-important than normal as he talks to Rey in her own strange language. She looks a little anxious, but nods and answers, looking at Kylo’s chest as she does.

“She understands. She is much more polite today.”

After briefly stroking her cheek, Kylo takes his leave, heading out with the others to pursue blood.

The small bundle of sensation at the back of his mind, which is Rey, comforts him, and while he looks forward to dealing out death and justice as always, he also looks forward to returning home, to her.

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

Rey doesn’t know what species the odd, self important humanoid is, but he is not the same as the beasts in black.

Although she understands most of what he says, his Jakkusian is not quite right, some of the words are strange or don’t quite fit together. 

The connection he talks about, between her and the ‘ _ Prince’ _ , (as he calls Kylo, which he must have wrong, for Kylo does not wear a crown), seems like something out of a folktale. 

Of course she knows there is magic and she knows Kylo has it, but the idea that they are somehow ‘bonded’ now is patently absurd and just a falsehood told to keep her from running away. She pretends to believe it and finds that he is very easy to deceive. 

He sets about teaching her the ‘Prince’s’ language, the sounds are jagged and unpleasant in her mouth, but she listens carefully as this will be of use to her. The sounds of approval he makes at her progress remind her of a brooding hen.

The other being in the room doesn’t say a word and is clearly a guard, although he is not one of the monsters either. His skin is dark and scaly and she thinks he must be a Jolahka, from the fiery regions in the north. Whether he is there to keep an eye on her, or to keep the other monsters away from her, she isn’t sure. Either way he looks slow, though the spiked barbs at his wrists are probably projectable.

Threepio asks her if there is anything she needs and she bites her lip before asking for some undergarments. Wearing just skirts makes her feel exposed.

He nods and stammers an apology at not having thought of that himself, then bustles off, leaving her with the Jolahka whom he names as Korso.

It isn’t long before there are footsteps and another monster walks into the room, this one has flaming hair and pale eyes and he examines her with interest.

Korso rumbles something at him and there is the sound of a blade being unsheathed. When she looks he is using an enormous blade to casually clean his claws. 

The stranger waves a hand at him and asks Rey a question, she shakes her head and Korso says something else.

This is ignored and the monster steps closer to her and she leans back in her chair, alarm beginning to crackle over her skin.

Korso stands, he is perhaps eight feet or more, a giant slab of muscle but the other just laughs quietly, reaches out to caress her cheek briefly, then turns on his heel and leaves.

Grumbling to himself, Korso moves to the door and pokes his head out, before he sits down again, looks at Rey and nods, as if to reassure her.

Threepio arrives back soon after that, then looks flustered and offers to take her to the privy so she may change in privacy.

And here is her chance. It is a single privy with a lockable door and a small window, which is unbarred. She pulls the soft leggings on quickly and leaves her shoes on the floor as she silently slides the door lock home.

Other chances may come, but they may not. Knotting her skirts at the side, she digs her toes into the stones and wriggles through the window. Rather than dropping down to the ground, she chooses to climb up to the third floor and in through another window. They will expect her to run right away.

Creeping carefully, she inspects rooms until she finds one with clothing in, they are too big, but can be rolled up and tucked away, her feet stay bare though. The best thing is the hood and veil, all black of course, but it is nearing evening and will aid in her concealment. 

She rolls up the dresses to sell and shoves a stray knife in her waistband, before climbing nimbly up onto the roof.

She grins to herself as she crouches, hearing the shouting, presuming it is about her disappearance. 

Perhaps Threepio is not so smug now.

Then she is off, moving lightly and quickly as she tastes freedom once more. 

They must believe her well and gone, as no one is watching the wall that she climbs over, and she enters the city, keeping to the shadows and melting into crowds.

The dresses, she decides to dump, instead she uses the knife to lift a purse or two, then heads for the outer walls. 

She had promised she would leave the city, afterall.

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

There is blood on his hands and around his mouth, when they find him and the others. They have just taken out a house of insurgents, none of whom had been willing to surrender and face justice. 

It is Mitaka and Larrs, both clearly afraid, they stand several paces back from him and tell him his mate is missing.

The blood is still hot in his veins, and he snarls at them, wrathful and incredulous. They stammer and swallow.

He reaches inside his head for her, and there she is, heading north. He cleans his sword on the tunic of the nearest body and sheaths it, “Have this cleared up,” he instructs Mitaka and Larrs, then turns to his brothers in arms, “The hunt is on.”

They are as covered in blood as he is, a wild light in their eyes as they nod and sheath their own weapons in a similar fashion.

He could do this easily on his own, can track her easily through the bond, which Threepio evidently has not explained to her, but he is worried that she may be scented by other Yehcatyr, or other predators and he will not take the risk.

They follow him into the deepening night, running swiftly, ignoring the people that jump out of their way and cower against walls and doorways.

A wicked smile pulls at his lips despite his anger and fear, his Rey is moving fast, but they are catching up.

_ Ingalan, Zainmar, Ashjac, I think she is heading to the north gate, take the shortcut, we will follow her trail. You have my permission to touch her if you scent her before we do. _ He speaks directly into their minds, it is a connection only the seven of them share. Those named peel off from the four remaining. 

He wonders if he can speak to her mind directly too, whether language would still be a barrier or if mind to mind, the meaning would be understood. 

Shaping his words carefully, he sends them, pushing them through the bond, hoping that she understands. 

_ I am coming for you. _

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

The rooftops in Kalterr are mostly almost flat, the rise is so little it makes running over them easy and the gaps between buildings are often jumpable.

The few others she finds up here are likely also up to no good, a few look at her with interest, but none opt to follow her as she is moving so fast.

Sometimes she must climb down, when a street is too wide to jump, or she sees a large group of people ahead of her. Occasionally she startles sleepy chickens or goats, the odd angry goose, the first two aren’t really a problem, but the geese hiss and honk loudly, drawing attention that she does not want.

She stumbles when she feels something odd in her head, a sort of tugging sensation. It is alien and strange and she pauses, crouched low as she tries to work out what it is.

After a few moments, she gives up and gets going once more, but a little while later, words are suddenly being spoken in her mind.

In his voice.

She gasps and trips, falling and catching herself on her hands and knees, almost spilling over the edge of the roof she is on. 

Somehow she understands him, though she doesn’t comprehend how any of this is can be possible.

So he knows she has escaped then, in that case heading for a gate is a bad idea. She is a good climber though, so the wall shouldn’t be too much of a problem, providing she avoids patrols she will be fine.

As she is just getting to her feet and brushing off her stinging grazed hands, she hears a growl behind her. She has her knife in her hand as she turns, very aware of the drop just behind her.

The man is alone, but he is large, another monster, she thinks as he stalks towards her, smiling invitingly, the points of his teeth showing in the moonlight as he asks her a question.

Snarling with warning, she drops into a slight crouch, the gap to the next roof is too far to jump without a run up. She uses the word for ‘ _ no’ _ that Threepio taught her earlier as she brandishes the knife at him.

None of that seems to bother him though, and she reviews her two options: fight or jump. Neither of these will have a good outcome, the man is big and has a knife of his own, larger than hers and the roof she is on is three storeys high and the cobblestones would make for a bad landing. It comes down to which one is more certain; the jump, even if it goes well, will likely break or damage her ankles whereas it is not improbable that she can surprise her attacker and slide between his legs.

So she runs at him, knife raised as if to strike, he readies himself and at the last moment she ducks low, the texture of the roof makes sliding impossible so she scrambles as fast as she can, slicing her knife across his left hamstring as she goes.

He roars, his leg gives way but he twists and grabs for her head, he catches her hood but she rips it away and staggers back to her feet, just darting aside in time as he lunges at her, using his body as his leg is useless.

The sounds he makes are savage, a coughing, snarling bellow and she starts to run again, afraid that his noise will bring others. 

It takes some time for her to get back to the pace she was at before, the roofs in this part of the city are further apart and there seem to be more people in her way. It is frustrating and her heart hits like a drum in her chest, an urgent tattoo that has her even more on edge.

Something in her gut is telling her that she is missing something, but she doesn’t know what.

Finally, she reaches the wall. It is high but not too smooth, the problem is that it is well lit, so she conceals herself in the shadows to wait until the majority of people are abed, then she will only have to worry about the guard patrols. 

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks for the feedback on the noncon question, seems my radar is all wrong in that respect lol  
> Tbh i didn't think anyone would be interested in this, so, um, yeah, thanks for kudos/commenting.
> 
> Sorry about POV changes, it just happened.  
> Hopefully some questions were answered in this update, more will be in the next...


	3. Chapter 3

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

They find another Yehcatyr, a commoner laid out in a pool of blood, someone has slit his throat and one hamstring, and there is a ripped hood and veil near him that carries Rey’s scent, though Kylo can tell that others have been here too.

There is a light scent of her blood and his nose leads him to the barest touch of it near the roof’s edge. The trail carries on though, so she must be ambulatory.

It is unfortunate that the Yehcatyr is dead, he cannot be questioned and Kylo does not get the pleasure of erasing him himself - it is his scent along with hers on the ripped, discarded material. 

They move on, always they are catching up to her. Her trail changes direction and he calls the others away from the North gate with instructions to converge to the west.

When they reach the end of the buildings near the curtain wall, they descend to the street, she is so close he can taste her, and he bids the others to fan out as he heads for a pile of old, rotting barrels.

He feels her fear, can hear the hammering of her heart, as if it were trying to escape the cage of her ribs.

At first he cannot see her, which should be impossible because his senses and the bond clearly pinpoint where she should be. 

Then it hits him; _she is using magic._

Unconsciously perhaps, and her technique is crude but her use is obvious... It may answer the question on how it was possible for them to bond. He has never heard of humans being able to wield magic before. 

_Is she unique? Or are there other humans out there with similar abilities?_

Casually waving his hand, he sweeps away her concealment.

“ _Rey._ ”

Her head jerks up at the sound of his voice, despite the fact she obviously wishes to avoid his eyes. She is dressed in Knight’s black, her feet are bare and filthy and her hand clutches a bloody knife. He wonders how she got the clothes that now swamp her body. 

She is clever, his bondmate. 

Resourceful.

The way her mind jumps around, with panic and fear and confusion, indicates she _still_ does not understand what the bond means.

As her body coils in on itself, readying for a leap, an attempt at escape, his whispers into her mind.

_I will always find you._

There is a small gasp, of shock, of disbelief, and then she is springing up off her toes, lithe and quick. 

But he is in her head now, and knows which way to send his body, so much larger than hers, catching her easily.

Holding onto her proves tougher though, she is as slippery as an eel, even more determined than she was yesterday. 

The hardened leather of his cuirass protecting his chest turns her blade, but she manages to slash his arm. It is a shallow wound yet it still triggers his Zveris, which up until now, despite his anger at her fleeing from him, he had been in control of.

She screams as he bites her, his wicked teeth sinking into her throat, he hears the clatter of the knife falling from her hand, and her struggling grows weak.

It is intoxicating, this blood of hers, sweet and rich and exquisite. 

Then he remembers that she is his bondmate, not a meal or lawbreaker, and wills himself to let go, licking his lips carefully to make sure he hasn’t missed a drop.

Now she is quiet in his arms - the ataractic effects of the bite of a Yehcatyr sends most sentient beings into a state of torpor. 

He adjusts her till she is arranged properly, then carefully licks the wound, aiding the healing process and reducing the scent. He does the same with her grazed hands and wrists, before he turns back to the others.

Brobard and Ashjac leave them to deal with the body of the dead Yehcatyr on the rooftop, as they have bondmates of their own and do not need to return to the keep tonight.

His Rey will need to be punished, he thinks, as they make their way back home. As well, he will need to ask for permission to keep her in his room for a while as he does not think it will be safe to leave her on her own should he take a house for them.

Eventually he will have to though, you cannot have a female, even bonded as she is, running around a keep full of military Yehcatyr. 

For their peace of mind as well as her safety.

But how to make her understand that she cannot escape him? That they are connected, bonded, now and until death takes them?

He will have to explain it to her himself, mind to mind, Threepio’s attempt has plainly had no impact. Speaking of which, he will need to see Threepio and Korso, he wants to know the particulars of her escape and how she ended up dressed in black. The knife she could have got from anywhere and she has clearly picked a few pockets on her way, but her apparel raises some questions.

Threepio appears as soon as they arrive back in the keep. Flustered and flapping and uttering trembling apologies. It is irritating, but he bids the Antapuri to walk alongside him and explain himself as Kylo heads to his room.

It is a rather pathetic story, Threepio was so easily duped by her change in demeanour and by his ideas of decorum. It appears Korso did not accompany them to the privy as the window was so small, thought such an unlikely means of egress. 

Kylo makes certain they will not underestimate her again, and then sends Threepio off to fetch some things he needs, while he takes Rey to the bathing room again.

She murmurs a little, tries to lift her head as he walks her into the water, but otherwise does not stir as he cleans her. He finds grazes on her knees as well as the ones on her hands, which he also delicately licks. 

This time, he gets to wash her himself, he should have insisted the first time. Her skin is soft, covered in downy hair that is barely there. A familiar anger enters him as he feels the ridges of scar tissue that decorate her back.

He soothes it away as he learns her shape, the small swell of her breasts, the slight curve of her hips and bottom. Her hands and feet are such delicate things, even if they are calloused and rough. 

It appears that up until now, hers has been a hard life. 

Still, it shaped her and brought her to him, so he cannot resent it too greatly.

Eventually, when they are both clean, his hand wanders between her legs, she shifts a little as he strokes her and he can feel her mind trying to surface.

Before she can awaken properly, he leaves the water and after wrapping them both in towels, takes her back to his room.

Threepio has left food and water, new clothes, and some smooth rope. 

The rope he uses to tie her wrists to his bedposts, he leaves enough room so as not to cut off the blood supply, but not enough for her to slip out of either, then bends her legs and binds her calves to her thighs.

He leaves the other things for later, and settles on the bed between her legs, smoothing his hands over her hips and up her sides, then back again, as he places his mouth over her sex.

For a moment, he just breathes her in. 

Her scent is a little different from last time, no slick triggered by the bond, just her, clean and nectarous.

She is almost awake when he starts to sweep his tongue over her, tasting her properly, holding her knees down so she is spread for him completely.

A shocked squeal brings her completely awake as he presses his lips around her clit and he looks up to meet her eyes. They are confused, as she shivers with unwanted pleasure she shakes her head, moaning a stream of “No, no, no, no, no!” strangely accented. 

Threepio had managed something then. 

Though Kylo would not have said teaching her the word _no_ was a priority.

He sucks her clit into his mouth and her body jolts, then strains as she attempts to fight the ropes, his hands, his mouth, her own body. He works at her till she is almost there, just about to tip over the edge, and then he stops. 

He looks up at her as she pants, her hips moving slightly, unconsciously seeking release.

Her eyes are shut, face scrunched up, her nose crinkled. Once her breathing has evened out a little, he starts again, gentle little licks as he speaks into her mind.

 _There is something you must understand, Rey._ Her eyes fly open, for once staring straight into his. _We are bonded by blood and by magic. It will not end till we die. You began this when you marriage-marked my face. It means we are now connected, it means I will_ **_always_ ** _be able to find you. I will not let you leave me, and I will not let another being ever hurt you again. You are safe, and you are_ **_Mine._ **

There is a rush of moisture that coats his tongue and she whimpers. _Do you understand?_

She whimpers again as he swirls his tongue in her slick, then flicks it over her clit. _Answer me, speak in your mind, and I will be able to understand you._

She trembles, shuts her eyes tight and he can feel her trying to concentrate… _I… You lie! Let me go, shadowspawn!_

He sighs against her, causing her to shiver, _I do not lie._ Again he sucks her clit and rolls it between his lips. _You know it, you can feel the bond, though you choose to ignore it. You have a choice, accept it and live freely with me, or don’t, and stay tied to my bed_ … More slick gathers, and he sucks harder as he slowly inserts a thick finger inside her, then curves it upwards. Her breath is coming in quick little pants, and although she tries, she cannot hold onto to her moans as he brings her close once more, then stops. _I can do this for a very long time…_

A frustrated little sob escapes her, _Why me?_

Smiling, he starts to lap at her again, _That is something you must ask yourself. You made the first cut._

Her stomach muscles flex and her hips tremble as he starts gently moving his finger again, _I was only defending myself!_

His tongue speeds up, _And yet, here we are. Perhaps it was fate._

She snarls and he feels her inner walls clench around his finger, _Fuck fate!_ Another whine, _Why are you doing... That? I cannot concentrate with you…_ A shuddering exhalation... _doing that!_

She is so close again already, he himself is desperate enough, but this treatment is needful. She must be made to understand. 

_I am doing this, because you need to lose control, the greater your climax, the more detached from your body you become, the easier it will be to see our connection. I will do this for as long as necessary… or until you beg me to let you come._

He stops again, her whole body quivers, muscles contracting and breath hitching as her body tries to reach a conclusion on its own. She is covered in slick now, it glistens in the lamp light, coats her thighs and pools down the cleft of her buttocks. 

“Rey,” he breathes her name again, and just that almost has her over the edge, she is so close, _so close._

She sobs out words he cannot understand, curses and appeals, imploring. 

He has to bite his lip; she is so perfectly tormented. 

He can see her mind begin to shift a little, opening up, he hopes it will not be long now. When she has calmed a little, he restarts and as soon as he does, she begins to weep. Her clit is swollen and red, the lips of her sex are puffy, she looks so ripe. 

He wants her, wants to swallow every part of her until she screams and can scream no more. 

Gently, he bites her thigh, just a taste, he thinks, to go with the slick, but it is that that finally triggers her. 

Her back arches up as far as is possible, and she does scream, it is hoarse and ecstatic as she gushes over his lower face, muscles clenching and sucking at his finger, which he crooks even more and rubs her deep inside. 

She breaks, falls apart and all he can do is watch.

It lasts a long while and by the time her body relaxes she is a twitching, trembling mess. 

He unties her legs, rubbing them gently and she barely stirs.

Dipping into her mind, he finds it wide open, she is lost in the expanse of space, untethered and overwhelmed.

Now is the time for him to bring her back, through the bond.

Gently he pushes her thighs apart, and rubs his already leaking cock in her abundance of slick, then slowly sinks into her. She is so, so tight, like a vise made of warm and wanting flesh. Groaning, he continues, moving over her so he can nuzzle into her neck, lick over the pulse beating in her throat. 

Hitching one of her legs up a little, he finally hits home.

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

Somehow Rey is cast out of her body, and finally, she sees it, or perhaps she finally allows herself to see it, she isn't sure. But now the connection between her and the monster is visible. Like a tether or shining rope, it stems from her solar plexus into his, joining them together and she cannot see a way to unmake it.

The scar on his face also glows, as does her hand, pulsing gently in sync with each other. Looking down at herself makes her giddy and more afraid, yet the gentle hum of their bond somehow comforts her.

That comfort appalls her. 

She is drawn inward once more, as his body enters hers. Her worldly eyes are slow to open, her gaze hazy but she is aware that her hips are starting to rock against him of their own accord. His scar no longer glows, she notices as she meets his eyes fully, for the first time not hiding from him. 

There does not seem any point now. 

They are amber and brown, his pupils wide and hungry. 

_There you are,_ her muscles involuntarily clench around him as his voice whispers in her mind, _Don’t be afraid. I feel it too._

He stoops, his lips gently brush hers as he stares into her eyes, his gaze seems to capture hers and she cannot look away no matter how much she wishes to.

They are soft, the contact makes her breath hitch at the light touch, her own lips tingle as she looks back at him.

He is beautiful, she realises, despite how monstrous he may be, there is an otherworldly pulchritudinous to him that she cannot deny... She hopes it is the bond that makes her feel this way, that makes her body cry out for him to start moving, to finish what he started.

 _Do you see now?_ He holds so still, despite her body’s grip on him; it is almost as much torture as what he had done with his mouth. _Do you accept our bond, or must I keep you tied to my bed?_

The idea does not seem to distress him, but it gives her a full body shiver, and not entirely in a bad way. She doesn’t know why.

_I do._

For now she has no other choice.

This answer seems to light a fire in his eyes and now his lips press against hers fully, moulding to them as he finally starts to move.

It is a relief, yet still hurts, but somehow it feels good at the same time, an equal measure of pain and pleasure, the one only enhancing the other. 

Her hands are still tied, her body completely in his control. Only able to clench her fists and flex her hips leaves her unable to fight the rising tide of sensation. His lips move away from hers, kissing down her jaw and settling to mouth at her pulse as his body picks up the pace, the delicious violence of his thrusts make her cry out with every jolt of movement.

 _Mine. You are mine._ In her head his voice is ragged but demanding. _Say it._

She doesn’t want to capitulate, she has told him she accepts the bond already, why does he need this too?

He snarls slightly at her lack of response and one of his hands disappears between their bodies, it finds the tiny sensitive spot above her sex and starts to rub it as he thrusts into her harder.

The rising tide that has been building deep inside her suddenly crests and before she can draw breath, she is pitched over it to completion.

Even in the midst of her climax she feels him swell inside her, stretching her even more before he himself breaks. A low growl emanates from his chest as he shudders, before his teeth sink into her neck, causing her eyes to roll up and her body to shake with intensity.

When she comes back to herself, her eyelids are heavy and will not allow her to open them. Right now, she doesn’t wish to think, so she surrenders to sleep. 

That is a submission she is happy with.

**.~*~v***v~*~.**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Monsters by Ruelle in my head for most of this fic, I meant to say at the beginning but forgot…  
> I wrote this chapter soon after the other two, but didn't post as I wasn't sure about it, but hopefully it reads okay.  
> I don't know when another update will come, sorry 0_0

**Author's Note:**

> There could be more, if anyone wants it...?  
> Also, really interested to know whether you'd class this as noncon?  
> And please feel free to suggest tags I may have missed, I really am terrible at them, almost as bad as my summaries. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
